


It's Been a Long, Long Time

by non_tiembo_mala



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Frottage, Grinding, I'm only half kidding and not at all sorry, M/M, Magical Healing Titties, Minor character off screen death (past), Nipple Play, Nursing Kink, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Then and Now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-28 04:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20419895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/non_tiembo_mala/pseuds/non_tiembo_mala
Summary: It's been a thing almost as long as they have, since before Steve grew up and filled out his serum-given body. Connection, comfort-- whatever it is, it grounded them then and, as it turns out, it grounds them now, many decades and disasters later.Or: the one where Steve's beautiful tits help Bucky get his memory back.





	It's Been a Long, Long Time

**Author's Note:**

> Is it crack? Not actually. But I have no regrets and hopefully you won't either. Steven Grant Roger's tits are a menace to society, Bucky Barnes, and my life, specifically. 
> 
> This was meant to be complete and utter trash, straight up porn all about that glorious rack. 
> 
> Then a little plot happened. And some back story. And pre-war porn. _Anyway_, what can I say? When it's about Steve's tits it's easy to get carried away. 
> 
> Beta'd by the marvelous, always encouraging Tal and Andy, who made A M A Z I N G art because she is talented and wonderful ❤ ❤ make sure you head her way and give her all the love! 
> 
> Title taken from the song of the same name, which features in this fic, and for which I am also not in the least bit sorry. I did, admittedly, play fast and loose with Steve and Bucky's familiarity of the song (which wasn't released until 1945 and then not by Bing Crosby) but I'm not really sorry about that either! *grins and shrugs in artistic license* 
> 
> Enjoy!

\--- 2014

It almost physically pains him, pulling the target out of the river, leaving him there coughing up water and groaning in the dirt, _ letting him live_. It’s not a pain like the way his body aches, battered and bruised, broken in places from their fight, a pain that he’s been trained to ignore, trusting his body to heal quickly. It’s something else, something _ inside_. 

He’s never– never gone against his orders, not once. It’s a different kind of pain, it hurts in a different way, as though he’s being torn in two, starting at the base of his skull. It’s why he couldn’t stop fighting, even after the target had dropped his shield, refused to fight back. It’s why he let him fall to the water in the first place, wrestling with the split, the disconnect sharper, louder than any gaping wound. 

_ I’m with you… til the end of the line_. 

He feels like screaming, digging the fingers of his metal hand into his temples, the man’s words echoing in his head, chased by flashes of fond expressions, features going soft amidst a battle on the street he can’t quite place – _ Bucky? _ – and no one has ever looked at him like that before, like he was anything other than a weapon. 

Something– something is _ happening _ to him. He has to walk away. He has to get away – away from the target, this mission, this place, and from HYDRA. 

\---

He can’t be sure how long the images have plagued him, shocks of blonde hair, pale skin marred with smudges of charcoal, blue eyes, a wry smile – always only ever in pieces. It’s possible it started before the helicarrier, but there’s no way to know, not now that he’s just starting to understand what’s been happening to him when he goes back, vaguely aware of new truths and countless lies. He can’t recall _ wanting _ before, this compulsion that’s so distinct from the need to eat or clean or sleep, but he does now. He wants, doesn’t even know what, just chases the instinct towards anything he can find, towards answers. 

Towards _ Bucky_.

Towards Steve.

\---

Looking for answers brings him to DC, _ wanting _ keeps him there. 

Steve is there. 

The Soldier tries to leave, wants to keep moving, stay away to keep from being caught – an old directive he hasn’t quite figured out how to shake yet. It keeps him ansty, and he goes in circles, moving in close to spy on Steve at his apartment, then backing away, laying low on the edges of the city, always _ this close _ to leaving before turning around to go back. He’s caught between the Soldier’s instincts and this person that he supposedly is.

Bucky. 

It takes him weeks to start referring to himself that way, and it still doesn’t feel like it belongs to him, even though objectively his research tells him it does. It’s uncomfortable, thinking about being that person – being _ a _ person – not a tool, or a weapon, or an execution. As the Soldier, everything is clear cut, black and white, simple. He has orders which he follows, and he has basic needs which he fills. Bucky– Bucky has feelings. He’s confused and sometimes he aches. He longs for things though he doesn’t know what, can’t quite remember. He sees people, really sees them, and it makes him question things. For the Soldier, people are obstacles, targets, collateral – nothing more, merit no second thoughts. 

Bucky sees a couple walking hand in hand on the street and he flexes the fingers of his metal hand, wonders if he’s ever been touched like that, without the intention to harm. 

He really doesn’t know. 

Steve might. Steve knows him– knows Bucky. That’s what everything says anyway, with too much evidence to ignore. There’s a video at the Smithsonian, some old black and white film, he and Steve are standing side by side and they’re– they’re _ laughing_. When was the last time Bucky laughed? It’s not clear in the footage but when Bucky watches it, he thinks he might actually remember it, feels the phantom touch of Steve’s hand on his back, hidden from the camera but not from the memory in Bucky’s body. Touched, _ gently _ . The very notion is almost overwhelming, and in those moments more than most, Bucky _ aches _ , wants to go to Steve _ , _ maybe– maybe Steve would touch him like that now, but the Soldier keeps him just out of reach. 

Until one day he doesn’t.

\---

Steve spends a lot of his spare time feeling like he’s catching up with the whole world and, frankly, it’s tiresome. Some days, he just lets it all go, forgets about the never-ending list in his pocket, and lets himself be where he is. 

He has a record player in his apartment. It’s not even that remarkable, since apparently Steve isn’t the only thing making a comeback these days. There’s a lot of modern music available on records even, but that’s not what makes up the bulk of Steve’s very limited collection. 

Bing Crosby’s soothing baritone is a welcome backdrop to Steve’s quiet evening in. The little slice of his life before is comforting when he’s trying to unwind, trying not to think about everything they still have to do, the things that have to wait for this or that, when Steve is supposed to _ relax _, or rest, if such a thing is even possible, given the circumstances. He does hum along to the familiar tunes as he washes his dishes in the sink after dinner. The apartment has a dishwasher, but Steve has never used it, hasn’t even bothered to buy detergent. 

Cleaning up like this, Bing’s voice in his ears, it’s not hard for Steve to imagine himself back in Brooklyn, in the apartment he shared with Bucky. Bucky would be standing next to him though, drying the dishes as Steve hands them to him one at a time, dramatically singing overtop of whatever’s on the radio just to make Steve laugh. He sighs. _ Bucky _.

The fact he isn’t out there searching for him at this very second is a testament to Natasha’s hard earned trust. _ My ears are to the ground. The _ second _ I hear even the faintest whisper, Steve, I swear you will be the next to know_. 

Anything she had on the Winter Soldier she already gave him, and the files are perpetually spread out on the table in Steve’s living room. He pours over them every night, has read everything a hundred times, though it’ll never be enough. Not until he can get Bucky back and start trying to undo everything that’s been done to him. It hurts, reading the reports, knowing the details, and Steve feels like he deserves that – the pain of it, the guilt. After all, it’s nothing compared to Bucky having had to actually live it. 

Dishes done, dried and put away, Steve folds the tea towel over the handle on the oven door before he leaves the kitchen, shutting the light off as he goes, but when he steps into the living room he stops frozen at the threshold. 

James Buchanan Barnes is standing in front of the open window, nevermind it was locked or that Steve is on the fourth floor. He’s wearing jeans, a red cotton henley under a hooded utility jacket, and a black ball cap that keeps his long hair back and off his face, which is bearded, and bears an expression that keeps Steve’s feet firmly locked in place even as every cell in his body is screaming at him to move. Bucky’s eyes are wide and he almost looks frightened as he stares Steve down, like he’s here now but not sure what happens next. 

Steve slowly, very slowly, raises his hands, palms up to show no tricks, there’s nothing to worry about. 

“Bucky,” he says, quiet, testing the waters. Bucky swallows hard, his eyes dart to Steve’s open hands, then back to his face. “Do you know me?”  
  
Bucky stares at him another moment. “You’re Steve.” He hesitates. “I… read about you in a museum.”  
  
Steve’s heart flutters in his chest at the sound of his name from Bucky’s lips. Bucky doesn’t sound entirely convinced, and yet, he’s here, in Steve’s apartment, and Steve gets the feeling it’s more than a visit to the Smithsonian that brought him here. 

“Bucky,” Steve keeps his voice soft, takes a tentative step forward. Bucky tenses but doesn’t move. “I know you’re nervous. You’ve got every right to be. But you’re safe here, with me.”

Another step, and Bucky takes a step away. Steve stops. 

“I don’t–” Bucky starts, swallows, looks away. Steve takes him in again. He has nothing on him, no backpack, no supplies, he’s just… here. Like he didn’t plan it, or didn’t mean to, or worse, has no intention of staying. Steve’s not about to corner him or trap him but they can’t make progress if they aren’t together.

“It’s okay, Buck,” Steve offers as he back tracks by one step, trying to take the pressure off. Bucky does seem immediately less tense, and a part of Steve breaks at the inescapable realization that this is going to take time, and lots of it. 

Steve just waits, quiet, watching, and Bucky eventually starts to look around the room, no doubt internalizing the layout of the apartment so far as he can see into it, but also glancing at the art on the walls and the objects and books on the shelves. A new song starts up from the record player and that grabs Bucky’s attention. As Bing starts singing, looks back to Steve. 

_ Never thought that you would be _

_ Standing here so close to me _

_ There’s so much I feel that I should say _

_ But words can wait until some other day _

“I know this song,” Bucky says, genuinely surprised, the smallest, almost shocked smile revealing that he’s pleased at the discovery. 

It hits Steve hard enough to catch his breath in his throat, makes his heart hammer double time in his chest. That– that’s his Bucky, right there in front of him, and this song– 

\--- _ 1945 _

_ “Dance with me, Stevie!” Bucky starts to stand up off his barstool as the song changes on the radio and it’s not smooth at all. He’s had a few more than he should’ve, but all the Howlies made it out in one piece – barely – and Steve gets it, could never hold it against him. _  
  
_ That said, their compatriots are in various similar states at the moment, laid about in pockets around this otherwise abandoned bar. It’s late, and they had let themselves in, seeing as half of the place is in pieces, and then helped themselves to a little of what could be salvaged under the debris. Steve hasn’t seen Bucky loose like this in way too long. He hates that he has to say no to that face, the one Bucky is beaming at him with, open and loving him so much he just doesn’t give a damn about anyone else in the building. Steve almost wishes he was drunk too, just so he could say yes, but apparently being enhanced does have its downsides after all. _  
  
_ “Buck…” Steve starts gently, voice low and warning, turning towards him still on his own stool. _

  
“_Aw, Stevie, c’mon, dance with me, will ya? Jus’ one dance,” he comes around to Steve’s side and paws at his shoulder, reaches for one of Steve’s hands. Steve holds onto it hard, tries to get Bucky to pay attention, take him seriously. _

_ “Bucky, we ain’t alone,” he whispers, glancing over Bucky’s shoulder at the next nearest group, Dugan, Morita and Dernier huddled in a corner booth over a bottle of whisky and a deck of cards. _

_ “Alone enough, Steve, please. Don’t make me beg, baby, come on,” he tugs on Steve’s hand and then joins in, singing along with Bing as if it was planned, “its been a long, long time.” _

_ He starts to back away from the bar, pulling on Steve’s hands, not that anyone can move Steve if he doesn’t want to be moved, and it's still just the strangest thing, especially here, between him and Bucky. He sits immovable another moment, cheeks flushing as Bucky starts singing louder, obnoxious and joyful as if they were alone in their apartment back home instead of some half destroyed bar in North West France, and Steve’s eyes fly briefly to their friends’ table before Bucky is giving his hands a shake to get his attention. _

  
_“Stevie, sweetheart,” he starts, hushed and serious enough to remind Steve that no amount of alcohol could make him so careless. “You really think they don’t already know?” _  
  
_ Bucky looks fond and exasperated, an expression Steve has spent a lifetime being on the receiving end of, and he blinks at Bucky, wide-eyed, before looking over his shoulder at their friends._

_ Dugan is looking right at him across the dimly lit room, and Steve’s breath catches in his throat. Dugan rolls his eyes at him, only to grin afterwards, wink, and give him a nod before turning his attention back to the cards in front of him. _

_ For the briefest moment, Steve’s heart keeps hammering in his chest, it never occurred to him– _

_ “So kiss me once, then kiss me twice,” Bucky starts singing again while Steve catches up, completely unashamed as he dances at the end of Steve’s arms, their fingers laced together. The top buttons of his uniform shirt are undone, and the metal chain of his dog tags visible as it shifts in the dark hair on Bucky’s chest as he moves, the hair on his head a disheveled mess and his jacket draped over the chair on Steve’s left. He’s the most beautiful thing Steve has ever seen, and a beacon of everything good in the world even here – _ especially _ here – in this war-torn hell. _

_ “Then kiss me once again,” Bucky’s expression becomes impossibly brighter as Steve nervously relents, standing up and letting Bucky pull in him close, letting him lead, dancing the way they used to back home in their tiny kitchen. It’s still a bit unfamiliar, Bucky having to tilt his eyes up to look at him, but the triumphant, smug as shit grin is everything Steve knows and loves. _

_ “Jesus, Buck, whatever happened to subtley, huh?” Steve laughs, huffed into Bucky’s ear as they stand chest to chest, Bucky’s hand dangerously low on Steve’s back. _

_ Bucky doesn’t even blink, just shrugs as if to say _ ‘what of it?’ _ and keeps on singing, “it’s been a long, long time.” _  
  
_ Steve is tense, he can’t help it. They never– not like this. Back home, it wasn’t– just wasn’t done, and Steve was likely to get beat up and left for dead if it ever was – hell, they both were. He doesn’t exactly have to worry about coming to bodily harm for it anymore, but that’s hardly the only thing to be concerned about. He dares to look away from the safety of the side of Bucky’s face, and it’s Dernier who catches his eyes this time, raising a glass in their direction before taking a sip through a knowing smile. _

_ Okay, so… maybe they’ve never been as subtle as they thought. Steve nods back at him, sincerely grateful, and lets out a shaky exhale, trying to relax into it. They haven’t danced since the night before Bucky shipped out, in the privacy of their apartment, and now that they’re here Steve doesn’t want to stop. _

_ The song ends, and Bucky’s mostly just murmuring the final lines against Steve’s cheek, quiet so only Steve can hear him. _

_ “You gonna kiss me now or what?” Bucky teases, whispering, pulling back just enough that he can look at Steve. _  
  
_ “You’re gonna get us into trouble, you know that?” Steve admonishes, exasperated even as he leans in and does it, kisses Bucky right there on the dancefloor of a lonely French bar in full view of their friends, who apparently aren’t surprised and don’t care. _  
_  
_ _ Bucky grins against his mouth. “Yeah, maybe. And then you can get us out, _Cap.” 

_ Steve shakes his head, incredulous, but kisses him again anyway. _

_ Behind them, the men start to clap and holler. _

\--- 2014

“You do?” Steve asks, breathy, not nearly as neutral as he would’ve liked, his voice betraying his hope. 

Bucky blinks at him, appears to simply listen to the words, then looks away contemplatively.

“I–” Bucky frowns, furrows in his brow deepening as he thinks, hard. Then his eyes go wide as if he’s remembered something and his gaze snaps back to Steve. He takes a big step forward, arm outstretched, but freezes when Steve moves towards him likewise, drawing back. Steve internally curses his eagerness, immediately putting his palms back up, aiming for as non threatening as someone of his stature can be. Bucky’s metal hand goes to his head, thumb and first finger at his temple, his face screwed up in frustration. 

“Bucky– are you okay? I–” Steve fumbles with the words, used to comforting Bucky less with those and more with his body, and afraid that the words that do come to mind won’t help, not right now, not with Bucky the way he is. “Buck, I wanna help you. Tell me what you need from me. Start small if ya gotta. Why– why are ya here?”  
  
Bucky’s chest heaves with laboured breaths, and as Steve speaks, the rise and fall starts to ease into something more regular. He drops his hand back to his side, squeezes both fists on another long sigh.

“You– you know me.”  
  
It’s not a question, and Steve’s heart flutters at the declaration, something this Bucky has decided he knows. 

“I do,” Steve whispers with a nod, reassuring.  
  
Bucky’s swallow is audible, timed with the quiet in the break between songs. “I… remember things, I think. Just flashes. And– I have questions.”

“Anything, Buck. I’ll tell ya anything you want to know.”

Bucky nods slowly. “Okay.”  
  
Steve detects a hint of relief, and feels the echo of it like a wave washing over him. Bucky doesn’t move though, just looks at Steve like a man completely out of his depth, hands flexing nervously at his sides.  
  
“Can we– ya wanna sit with me, Buck? Have you eaten? Can I get you anything?” Steve barely contains the rambling that threatens to spill from him once he opens his mouth again.

Bucky tilts his head, considering, then snorts, “you can’t cook worth shit, Rogers.”  
  
Steve’s eyes go wide but so do Bucky’s, as he’s surprised them both. Steve is so suddenly, deliriously happy, he might actually fly out of his own skin.

“I– is that? Sorry–” Bucky backpedals, apparently unsure of what just happened.

“No, Bucky, it’s alright,” Steve laughs, gesturing for Bucky to take a seat on the couch. “You’re right. You always were the cook between us. I do a mean grilled cheese though, I’ll tell ya what.”

The expression on Bucky’s face is unreadable as he stares at Steve, and Steve sobers under it, clearing his throat.

“Please sit down?” Steve asks again, just this side of desperate, worried that Bucky is still two steps away from the open window and could disappear again at any moment. 

“I… didn’t mean to come here,” is what Bucky says instead of moving toward him, eyes narrowing, heel shifting back on the hardwood floor. Steve’s heart rate kicks up, panic seeping through his veins as he racks his brain for something that will keep Bucky here. 

“You pulled me out of the river. Why?” Steve aims for something Bucky will remember, something from his present. 

Bucky looks away, huffs. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” Steve counters, firm but gentle.  
  
Bucky’s eyes flash to him, maybe angry at Steve’s assertion, though that sharpness fades quickly into that same lost expression from before, Bucky shaking his head, sad. He takes a step back, closer to the window.

“Bucky, please–” Steve starts and it’s a miracle he doesn’t lunge for Bucky then. “Please don’t go. Stay. I ain’t above beggin’. I can’t help you if you go.”

Bucky looks from Steve to the window and back again, and Steve doesn’t dare even breathe.  
  
“You– want me to… stay?” 

“I do,” Steve answers earnestly. “We don’t have to talk, if– that’s not– if you don’t want. Not yet. It’s late. Take the bedroom. I’ll sleep on the couch.”  
  
_ So I’ll hear if you leave _ Steve doesn’t say, doesn’t even mean to think, really. Reality is, if Bucky lays in Steve’s bed for even a second before taking off, Steve will cling to the knowledge of it like a child every moment they’re apart if Bucky takes off again.  
  
“Steve–” Bucky begins to argue, and Steve is momentarily thrilled by Bucky saying his name again, especially in that familiar, long-suffering tone. God, it’s been so long.  
  
“I insist,” Steve cuts him off. “I promise you, you’re safe here.”  
  
Bucky is statue still, but Steve sees it in his eyes that he wants to believe him.  
  
“Bucky,” Steve takes a risk. “When was the last time you felt safe?”  
  
Those wide eyes again, and Steve dies a little inside. _ Let me keep you safe, let me keep you, please please please I can protect you now. _

Bucky doesn’t even try with words to answer, just shakes his head. 

Steve gestures towards the bedroom and waits with all the patience he can muster. It’s an eternity of silence and then – because apparently today really is one for miracles – Bucky takes a step towards him, towards the bedroom. Steve thanks God and waits until Bucky has passed him before following with a painful amount of space between them still. 

Bucky turns around when he’s standing beside Steve’s bed, and Steve makes himself stay on the other side of the doorway. 

“Is there anything you need, Buck? Anything at all?”  
  
_ Give you anything, everything. Just say the word_.

“No, I–” Bucky doesn’t look or sound sure of anything, stops speaking and shakes his head again instead.  
  
Steve nods.

  
“Okay. I’ll be right out here. If there’s anything.”  
  
Bucky nods, too. The quiet between them is heavy and thick, and Steve knows it’s long past time for him to walk away, let Bucky close the door, but– _ but _. 

“Thank you.”  
  
It’s barely loud enough for Steve to hear, but it’s there, and Bucky’s eyes say much more, much more loudly than any whispered words. 

“‘Course, Buck,” Steve replies just as sofly. “Good night.”  
  
He makes himself turn away, shows Bucky that he trusts him, and hears the bedroom door close behind him a moment later. 

Steve sags a little to be alone again, the tension bleeding out of him enough to drop his shoulders and let him take in a big breath of air. 

All this time waiting on Natasha’s intel, and Bucky came to _ him _. He never dared to even dream it would happen like that. 

He takes another deep inhale, wills himself to keep it together. He didn’t get a lot out of him, but he’s here, and he’s going to stay.

Baby steps. 

Steve looks at his couch and sighs. He hasn’t slept much since coming out of the ice, a combination of the serum’s effects and other things he’s resolutely refused to acknowledge, so he has next to no hope he’ll sleep tonight, not with Bucky less than twenty feet away, nothing but flimsy slab of wood between them. 

Still, he goes through the motions, turning off the living room lamp and the record player before stripping out of his jeans and button down, folding both and setting them on the coffee table, then grabbing the blanket off the back of the couch and laying down under it. He closes his eyes even though his brain is in overdrive, strains to hear anything from his bedroom, thinking about Bucky laying underneath his covers, his head on Steve’s pillow. With the next breath he’s with him in his mind, looking down at Bucky while Bucky’s hands dance along the skin of his torso, sliding none too subtly towards Steve’s chest, the one Bucky could never get enough of even way back when it was nothing. Steve’s nipples tighten with the phantom ache and longing that spikes through him sharply at the thought of it.

He opens his eyes on a gasp, shifting his hips and flexing his hands to keep from reaching for himself, staring up at the ceiling in the dark.

Yeah, there’s no chance in hell he’s sleeping tonight.

\--- _ 1938 _

_ Steve’s heart sits heavy at the base of his throat as he hears footprints approach their apartment door. There’s the scrape of a key in the lock and Steve lets out a big breath, starts to relax. Bucky’s back. _Finally.

_ Bucky was supposed to be home nearly two hours ago and Steve has been struggling more every minute to keep from getting dressed and going looking for him. As the door opens, Steve is swinging his legs off the edge of his bed, sketchpad and pencils haphazardly tossed onto his nightstand. _  
  
_ “Bucky– Buck!” Steve begins eagerly but his tone changes the moment he lays eyes on Bucky, who looks ragged, and– “Buck, is that _ blood_?!” _  
  
_ Steve rushes him then, reaching for his face to wipe the drying red smear on Bucky’s cheek with his thumb. Bucky sighs, weary, and gently wraps his calloused fingers around Steve’s wrist. “Not mine, Stevie. ‘M alright.” _  
  
_ He says that, but he’s trembling, not just his hand against Steve’s skin but his whole body. _  
  
_ “Buck, Jesus,” Steve gets his hand on Bucky’s waist just as he starts to go down. Bucky shoots out a hand to brace himself on the wall, just barely catching himself. _  
_  
“Think– I oughta sit down,” he admits ruefully, and lets Steve help him the short distance to his own bed. His breath is shaky as he relaxes on the mattress, and Steve’s not sure he’s ever seen him like this. It’s terrifying, if he’s being honest._

_ “What happened?” He asks as he moves around the apartment, shaking somewhat himself with the surge of adrenaline. He grabs a cloth and soaks it in the now tepid water in the basin on the dresser, wringing out the excess before standing between Bucky’s splayed open knees to gently clean his face. _

_ Bucky doesn’t say anything for a moment, just breathes and lets Steve tend to him, allowing his face to be moved in Steve’s hands. When Steve tosses the cloth behind him onto the floor, Bucky leans forward, laying his head in the centre of Steve’s chest and wrapping his arms around his waist. _

_ Steve relaxes with Bucky in his arms like this, and he holds Bucky close, runs one hand through Bucky’s hair while he waits. _

_ “One ‘a the guys, John, he–” Bucky takes a deep breath, squeezes Steve to him a little more tightly. “I dunno what happened. Something with the rigging wasn’t right, the line snapped clean through. One second we’re standing there, arms up waitin’ to guide it down, and the next there’s a godawful sound and the whole pallet’s comin’ down–” _  
_  
He shakes his head against Steve’s chest, and Steve’s heart plummets because he knows where Bucky’s is going. He tips his chin and kisses the top of Bucky’s head, lets his lips linger. _

_ “He was right next to me, and then he was under it. Screamin’ like a banshee until–” Bucky swallows thickly. “Till he was gone, Stevie.” _  
_  
_ _“ Jesus, Buck,” Steve curses under his breath. What a fucking day. What a– god, a close fucking call._

_ “It was awful, watching him suffer like that, but I– I’m– all I could think– what if it were me, if I didn’t come home to you–” _

_ Steve’s throat gets tight just to hear Bucky put the idea out there. He shakes his head and holds onto Bucky hard before pushing back to make Bucky look up at him. _

_ “It wasn’t, Buck. It– you’re here. You’re here, and I’ve got you–” _  
_  
“God, Steve, if–” Bucky’s shaking his head again, eyes shut hard before he buries his face in Steve’s chest again, hugging Steve to him like he’s the only proof Bucky isn’t the one who got crushed to death today. _

_ Steve’s pretty sure if he’s not already, Bucky’s trying real hard not to cry, not that Steve would hold it against him. Steve just lets him hold on, hugs him back, lets his fingers comb through the hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck. Bucky sort of nuzzles in against Steve’s chest, and it might not be the most appropriate time, but honestly it’s Bucky’s fault that the movement effects Steve the way it does now. His nose brushes hard over Steve’s sternum and a tiny gasp makes its way out of Steve’s mouth. _

_ It’s still new, relatively. They’ve been fucking around a few years now, but it’s only been maybe six months or so since the first time it happend – since it became a _ thing _ . _

_ Bucky takes care of Steve, alright? Steve hates it and loves it. He might be small and maybe a bit frail and, yes, he does tend to get sick a lot. But he ain’t useless and he ain’t no damsel needing rescue, not that that has ever stopped one James Buchanan Barnes from looking out for him. Steve can do it himself – take care of himself, that is – and Bucky says ‘ _ sure, sweetheart, ‘course you can. But you don’t gotta.’ _ Bucky loves him, alright? A whole damn lot. Steve fucking knows it. So he hates it but he loves it, too. And he wants nothing but to take care of Bucky right back – whatever ways he can – ‘cause he loves him just the same, god, does he ever. _

_ He’s not even sure looking back how this started, but it does something to Bucky – _ for _ Bucky – so Steve is only too glad to do it. And, if he’s being honest, it really fucking does it for him, too. _

_ So while Steve is acutely aware that Bucky just watched a buddy traumatically die, it still seems like maybe – just maybe – this could help. So he gently tries to put a little space between them. _  
_  
“S’okay, Buck, I got you,” he says as he does it, reassuring, so Bucky relaxes his hold just enough. Steve gets his hands to the buttons on his nightshirt. It’s much too big on him and the buttons go a good ways down anyway, so when they’re open it’ll do the trick._

_ He gets the first button undone and chances a look at Bucky as he moves on to the next. His eyes are glued to Steve’s fingers where they work, glistening at the corners in the low lamp light, and as Steve gets to the third button, Bucky inhales sharply. He looks up at Steve’s face and there’s a question in his expression, hopeful, and Steve’s stomach swoops for it, his dick getting heavier by the second. _

_ “I’ve got you,” Steve says again, barely a whisper as he finishes the last button. He’s just reaching to pull open the shirt further by the wrinkled, faded blue collar when Bucky gets his shaky hands in under his to do it for him. _

_ “Sweetheart,” Bucky breathes, pulling apart the worn-thin cotton to expose Steve’s chest, and Steve is already relieved to see the change on Bucky’s face. “Stevie, babydoll.” _  
  
_ Steve sighs as Bucky’s arms wrap around him, inside his nightshirt, the neck of which is so wide now that it’s undone that it’s starting to slip off his one shoulder, catching at the bend of his arm. Bucky places a chaste kiss in the centre of Steve’s chest, and Steve rests his forearms on Bucky’s shoulders, watching as he becomes Bucky’s sole focus. _

_ Bucky doesn’t rush this, that’s not what it’s about. He kisses his way up the bumpy shallows and dips of Steve’s sternum and takes his time along Steve’s collar bone, grazing the bone with gentle scrapes of his teeth before sealing his mouth over it, soft, and sucking. Steve feels every press of his tongue against his skin, and he has to hold on to Bucky now, his hands wrapped around Bucky’s head. The sounds of the city outside fade away to nothing, leaving only the silence of their apartment broken by their breaths, and the wet sounds of Bucky’s mouth. _

_ Bucky begins to kiss his way down to Steve’s right nipple, teasing them both by dragging the tip of his nose around it, pausing to pay special attention to the freckle just below it. When he finally takes the nub of Steve’s nipple into his mouth, they’re both already on the edge. Steve is aching between his legs, making a wet spot where the leaking tip of his cock catches on the fabric of his pajama, and he’s standing tucked in close enough to feel Bucky’s hard length on the outside of his thigh where it’s trapped along the inside of Bucky’s left leg. _

_ Bucky gently rolls Steve’s nipple between his teeth and Steve hisses, not unhappily. Bucky releases it only to tease it with his tongue, just the tip at first, and then lapping at it. Steve knows what’s coming next, is jittery with anticipation, and they both moan when Bucky finally _ finally _ sucks it into his mouth. The pull is welcome, warm and tight, and it starts to ache quickly as Bucky summons Steve’s blood to the surface. _

_ Steve takes deliberately slow, measured breaths, and just holds on. They’re only getting started, and as Bucky starts to really work his nipple, sucking on it like it’ll give up more than just the taste of Steve’s skin, Bucky’s arms tighten around him. Steve tries not to moan the way he wants to because the sounds Bucky makes when he gets into this are fucking sinful. Steve feels filthy for it, the hungry whimpers and obscene noises Bucky’s mouth makes when the seal breaks– god, he’s on fucking fire. His hands roam all over Bucky’s head – something to do with the energy bubbling up inside him while he stands otherwise still and lets Bucky do what he wants – pulling at his ears or tugging at his hair whenever it spikes, sharp and hurty. _

_ Bucky lets go of Steve’s ruined nipple with a _ pop _ , then examines his handiwork while he catches his breath, licking his own shiny, swollen lips. _

_ “Fuck, Steve,” he curses roughly, sliding his hands up Steve’s sides, his hands at Steve’s chest so big they wrap around him while still cupping his nothing pecs. He gently drags his thumb over Steve’s as-of-yet neglected nipple and Steve shudders for it. _

_ Steve is so much skin and bone that even the greatest pull and tug of Bucky’s roughened palms can’t muster up more than a barely-there line in the centre of his chest, but it still feels good when Bucky tries, forcing the heels of his hands together and putting pressure on Steve’s ribs with the effort. Steve gasps and Bucky groans like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen. _

_ “Your tits, sugar,” he says, reverent. Steve would baulk at it because he doesn’t know what it is exactly Bucky’s seeing except the sincerity of it only makes Steve hotter, the blush on his face that much deeper. _

_ “All yours,” Steve answers breathily, coaxing Bucky forward again, and Bucky parts his hands just enough to make room for his face, nuzzling in the centre and breathing in deep. Steve arches into him and slides his fingers up through Bucky’s hair, dragging them along his scalp. _

_ “Buck,” Steve starts as Bucky’s hands lighten up, moving around Steve’s back to hold him close as though he’s trying to smother himself with Steve’s body. “Bucky, baby, let’s– lie down, alright?” _  
  
_ “Yeah, Stevie, alright,” Bucky pants, sitting back. _

_ “Lemme get you out of these,” Steve leans in to kiss Bucky’s forehead, then ducks down to plant one on his lips. He means it to be chaste, but Bucky holds onto him when he starts to pull away, and so Steve lingers, lets Bucky lick into his mouth even as he blindly starts to undress him. _

_ He slips his fingers underneath the strap of the suspenders resting on each of Bucky’s shoulders and pushes them off, and Bucky unloops his arms from them one by one, keeping one hand on Steve’s face at all times, not letting go. Then Steve fumbles his way along the buttons on Bucky’s work shirt until he can’t reach right without looking and he breaks the kiss to get to the last button before the shirt disappears underneath the waist of Bucky’s trousers. _

_ Bucky gasps when Steve gives him the space, keeps chasing Steve’s face even as he’s trying for the button and fly of Bucky’s pants, and Steve has to laugh. “You ain’t exactly helpin’.” _  
_  
“Sweetheart,” Bucky whines, rooting around for Steve’s mouth or whatever part of him he can reach with his mouth, and that would make Steve laugh, too, except for the hint of something serious, something desperate that only makes Steve work faster. _

_ “C’mon,” Steve pats Bucky’s thigh now that his pants are open. “Boots next.” _  
_  
Steve drops down before Bucky can argue, crouching on one knee so he can untie the laces. Bucky’s hands find Steve’s shoulders, and then one moves to his hair, fruitlessly pushing it back and off his forehead only for gravity to pull it back down. _

_ “There now,” Steve says as he stands back up, and Bucky toes off the loosened boots. He shrugs out of his shirt, which Steve takes and tosses into their hamper, and then he steps out of his pants, leaving him in just his undershirt and shorts. _

_ “Steve.” The urgency is there, in the long, drawn out “e”s, and Steve is quick to get a knee up on Bucky’s bed. _

_ “Right here, baby,” Steve reassures him. “Lay back.” _  
  
_ Bucky does, but not without reaching for Steve all the while, as if Steve isn’t already going to follow him down. Steve tilts Bucky’s pillow to put it on an angle and lays on his side with his head on the high end while Bucky lays down with his head on the low one. Bucky gets his arm between Steve and the mattress, under his armpit, Steve so slim that Bucky’s elbow is at his back and Bucky’s arms wrap nearly all the way around him. Bucky’s nosing at Steve’s chest again as they settle, peppering him with kisses and gentle nips as he gets one of his knees wedged between Steve’s legs. Steve’s bottom leg winds up caught between Bucky’s strong thighs, while his top leg gets draped overtop of Bucky’s, his ankle hooked behind Bucky’s knee. They are well and truly wrapped up in each other, and the hungry sound Bucky makes as his mouth closes over Steve’s left nipple welcomes them to this home within their home, this place that they make together. _  
  
_ Steve sighs and lets his body be heavy, surrendering completely to be whatever Bucky needs from him right now. Being able to take care of Bucky like this gets him higher than anything else. He’s nearly out of his own skin it feels so good, the hard and persistent suck of Bucky’s mouth making his cock ache and twitch against his stomach, but he’s beyond it, the needy sounds and increasingly frantic noises coming from Bucky are the only thing that matters. _

_ “That’s it, Buck,” Steve coos, tilting his own head to bury his nose in Bucky’s hair, kissing the top of his head. “Go on.” _  
  
_ Bucky’s hips are moving now, too, shallow thrusts that push his cock against the meat of Steve’s thigh where he has it pinned between his own legs. As it builds, Bucky’s arms and hands are moving, too, grabbing at Steve as if it were possible for them to get somehow closer. The pull on Steve’s nipple is relentless, and it no doubt will leave the shape of Bucky’s mouth on Steve’s chest for days. It aches fiercely as Bucky barrels towards release, his hips pumping faster and faster, getting close. Steve bruises so readily and Bucky is so hard that he’s marking Steve up there as well; his thigh will be purple and blue by morning. Steve will ache long after Bucky’s done with him tonight, and that thrills Steve to think about, makes him draw in his next breath on a shivery gasp. His dick is neglected for the most part, jostled by the movement of their bodies but otherwise continues to only leak onto Steve’s skin and into the cotton of his pajama where it’s been rucked up to his waist, but Steve feels the echo of Bucky’s impending orgasm at his core. _

_ Bucky’s hips stutter as he spills against Steve’s leg, soaking his shorts and Steve’s skin, and only then does he open his mouth on a broken whine before tipping his forehead to Steve’s chest, hanging onto him while he rides it out. _

_ “S-Shit, Stevie– Stevie, honey, _ oh _ ,” Bucky rambles breathlessly, voice muffled between them while Steve rakes his fingers through Bucky’s hair. _

_ “Yeah, baby. Bucky, _ fuck _ ,” Steve exhales shakily, kissing the top of Bucky’s head, then angling down to kiss at his forehead and temple, too, wrung out as if they’d come together. _

_ The room is suddenly quiet, both of them still now, the only sound the soft panting as they catch their breaths. Bucky nuzzles at Steve’s chest, his hands gently roaming Steve’s back, and Steve is just the same, curled forward so his nose is at Bucky’s temple and his hands still comb through Bucky’s hair. _

_ When their heart rates have dropped and their breathing has evened out, Bucky finally pushes away to look up at Steve, who is surprised – not for the first time after they’ve done this – to see a kind of shy, uncertain expression on Bucky’s beautifully flushed face. All the cocky bravado he’s worn the bulk of his life is nowhere to be seen here, the confidence that carries him to victories in the ring subdued when he lets himself be taken care of like this. His face is open and vulnerable in a way Steve is positive no one else has ever seen and his heart is full for it. His Bucky. _

_ Steve raises his eyebrows in unspoken question and strokes Bucky’s cheek with his thumb. _

_ “Stevie, did you–?” The colour in Bucky’s cheeks deepens as his eyes glance downwards. _

_ Steve smiles and shakes his head as if to say not to worry about it. “I got everything I need right here.” _  
_  
Bucky lets out a heavy, shaky sigh, leaning his face into Steve’s hand and closing his eyes. _

_ “It’s okay, you can keep goin’,” Steve murmurs, sliding his hand from Bucky’s face to cup the back of his head again. Bucky’s eyes flash up to his, glassy and grateful that Steve just _ knows _ , and he lets himself be guided back to Steve’s chest. _

_ Steve’s own sigh is shuddery as Bucky goes back to his right side, his face tucking in close to the mattress until Steve rolls back a little to give him better access. It hurts from before but Bucky is gentle now, all the urgency dissipated, just comforted to have Steve in his mouth like this. It’s sloppy and unhurried, no endgame in sight, just the loose, weakened tug as Bucky drifts to sleep sucking at Steve’s tit like a baby at the breast. It should be weird, Steve used to think, but it feels too good, comforts Bucky – comforts them _ both _ – too much for him to scrutinize it. _

_ Bucky’s mouth finally goes slack against Steve’s chest, his mouth slick where his swollen lips rest on Steve’s blood red skin. Steve takes a moment to look at him, his face peaceful and unworried in sleep, his hair a mess from Steve’s hands. _ Beautiful _ . _

_ Steve reaches behind him to shut off the lamp on their nightstand, the movement shifting them enough that he feels the unfortunate, tacky pull where Bucky’s come dries on his thigh, some of his leg hair sticking together. He makes a face just as long as it takes to settle back in under the cover of darkness, reaching down to pull the blankets over them both. They can clean up in the morning. _

_ Steve melts into Bucky’s embrace, comforted by the sleep-heavy weight of Bucky’s body all around him, and drifts off as well. _

\--- 2014

It’s been nearly two hours since Bucky heard Steve settle on the couch in the living room, the sounds of the apartment building and the city outside the only ones disrupting the otherwise quiet. 

He doesn’t know why he’s here. 

He knows why he came. He wanted to know things. About himself. He still does. But the Soldier is screaming at him, commanding him to go, doesn’t care who Bucky is even though there’s this man here who looks at him like he’s the brightest star in the night sky. 

The way Steve looks at him– it’s like nothing else. It’s enough to keep Bucky here, to drown out the Soldier, just enough. 

The smell of Steve is everywhere and all around him, and Bucky tilts his head to press his nose into Steve’s pillow when he breathes just because it helps him tune out the Soldier that much longer, helps him hold out. 

Steve’s bed is big, and it’s more comfortable than any place Bucky can remember sleeping, between that and the scent of him which Bucky finds inexplicably reassuring – not that he’s sleeping now. He stalwartly ignores the Soldier in favour of thinking about Steve, the sound of his voice, the way he says _ Bucky _, the way he tastes– 

Bucky’s face heats immediately, startled by his thoughts, at the unexpected turn of them. Does he– know what Steve tastes like?  
  
_ Kiss me once, kiss me twice… _

There’s a flash of something, lips pressed together, the echo of whisky on someone’s breath, in his mouth– 

Then it’s gone, the image vanishing as if sand between his fingers, though Bucky’s increased heart rate and the rush of blood to his cock remains. 

There’s an urgency in it, in the memory but also in its wake, and the Soldier commendeers it, tells him to get out _ get out get out. _

He’s moving before he can second guess it. He moves stealthily, always, nearly incapable of anything else, and soundlessly opens the bedroom door with the intention of making for the window. 

Instead, Bucky freezes at the threshold. 

Steve has been pacing, clearly not sleeping any better than Bucky. He’s frozen mid-step, startled eyes wide and locked on Bucky where he’s staring back at him. 

Steve stands illuminated in a sliver of moonlight, wearing only a pair of grey boxer briefs that do nothing to hide the hefty bulge they contain, soft cotton fabric bunching up towards the top of his legs because his thighs are so thick, and a barely-there white under shirt that clings to his form so that next to nothing is left to the imagination, least of all the swell of his chest and the nubs of his nipples. 

Steve looks panicked that Bucky’s clearly caught mid-escape, but Bucky is stunned by the sight of him. The Soldier is abruptly silent, the sight of Steve’s body so exposed apparently all his brain has room for. Steve is obviously acutely aware of the very real possibility that Bucky is about to make a break for it, doesn’t even dare move for the risk of tipping Bucky the wrong way, meanwhile Bucky _ can’t stop staring_. His eyes are inexplicably stuck on Steve’s chest, his mouth watering and his dick twitching behind the zipper of his jeans. He– he _ wants _, profoundly, unlike anything he thinks he knows. He’s not even sure what it is, doesn’t even realize he’s moved towards Steve until his finger is pressing against Steve’s chest and his sharp intake of breath breaks Bucky’s almost-trance. 

“_Bucky _,” Steve practically whines, his voice breaking, and Bucky is almost afraid in that moment, suddenly aware of how quickly he’s coming undone. He finds Steve’s eyes and knows he must look terrified, his breath coming in short and fast, his face flushed. 

“Steve, I–” his voice is rough, husky in a way he’s not familiar with, and it’s enough to startle him again, make him drop his hand, even if he can’t bring himself to step away from Steve, out of arm’s reach. 

Steve raises his hands, slowly, palms up as if to surrender for the umpteenth time since Bucky crept in his window, eyes locked on Bucky’s. When Bucky shows no signs of running, Steve just as slowly reaches for the hem of his tank top. Bucky’s breath catches as his fingers grip the edge of it, and he can’t breathe for the long, agonizing seconds it takes Steve to peel the white cotton off of his body to be tossed onto the floor, and then– _ fuck– _Steve is just standing there in his underwear, the broad width of his sculpted shoulders and his impossibly slim waist, his chest– it–

“Christ, Stevie, would ya _ look at your tits _ .” It’s out of his mouth before he knows it, and it’s shocking enough that he _ almost _ stops but it’s too much, he’s suddenly too far gone, the dam broken, the water of memories surrounding him at all once, drowning the Soldier completely while he – _ Bucky _– is comforted and lifted to the surface, carried forward and into Steve’s arms by the sheer force of it. 

“Buc– _ mmmph_,” Steve’s broken iteration of Bucky’s name gets captured by Bucky’s lips in a bruising kiss, Bucky’s hat getting knocked back off his head and lost to the floor. It’s relief, the sound Steve makes then instead, and Bucky feels it echo across his body as he gets his tongue into Steve’s mouth, tasting him – yes, he _ does _ know this, Steve, this is _ Steve _ , this is _ home _ – and then, between them both, the sounds turn hungry. 

Steve is shaking all over, Bucky can feel it, the hesitant flit of his hands where they hover and stop before touching, as if Bucky’s not being clear enough when he bites down on Steve’s lower lip before sucking into his mouth. It’s just so– _ Steve _. 

“Steve, sweetheart, _ please _ ,” Bucky gets out against Steve’s mouth, knows it’s what Steve needs to hear, but he doesn’t wait either, sliding his hands up the tortuous angle of Steve’s body from hips to ribs then across his chest– _ Jesus_. There’s almost too much for Bucky’s hands, the swell of firm muscle intoxicating as he spreads his fingers to better cup Steve’s tits, his thumbs moving in big circles to rub at his nipples.  
  
Steve gasps and shudders at the touch, which only makes Bucky grin against his lips. It’s been so, so long, these precious sounds– Bucky wants to forget everything that isn’t Steve in this moment, forget everything that happened between now and the last time he was able to do this, touch Steve this way, _ be touched _ this way.

“Oh God,” Steve exhales in a rush, grabbing Bucky’s forearms with strong hands, and Bucky can still feel the indecision in them, the push-pull of stop-don’t-stop. “Bucky– _ baby_, stop, hold on second.”  
  
Bucky pants as he lets Steve put the smallest distance between them, the whirr of his metal arm going quiet as his hands go still on Steve’s chest, seemingly unable to let go. Everything is happening so fast, this clash of old and new, his memories an overwhelming mess even if they’re his, and Bucky may be spinning out of control but somehow Steve and– and his _ tits _– are an anchor.

“_Buck _,” Steve urges, voice serious and low, begging for Bucky’s focus even as he slides his hands gently up Bucky’s forearms to his hands, covering them with his own where they’re clasped already to his skin, one calloused and warm, the other smooth and cool. He presses Bucky’s hands harder against himself and groans, his eyes fluttering shut briefly before he takes a deep, steadying breath. 

“You show up here like you did– and now–?” He leans in where their eyes are locked on one another, tipping his forehead against Bucky’s to talk in the barely there space between them. “Is this really okay– are you alright? Not trying to rush you, Buck. Just want to help you. I wanna help you.”  
  
Steve’s voice is barely a whisper. His big palms keep Bucky’s hands on his chest, his thumbs gently rubbing over Bucky’s knuckles, and it’s Bucky’s turn to shake. The way Steve it touching him, speaking to him, it’s with a tenderness he hasn’t felt in– in–  
  
He gasps, shuddering as a wave of the Asset’s memories washes over him and leaves him trembling. He frantically tries to cling to Bucky, doesn’t want to lose himself again, and doesn’t even realize how his grip is tightening on Steve’s tits until Steve sucks in a sharp breath.  
  
“I’ve got you, Buck. Talk to me, tell me what’s happening.” Steve’s one hand he keeps on Bucky’s where it’s gripping his chest but the other he brings to Bucky’s face, just offering it, not touching him until Bucky pushes his face into Steve’s palm, desperate for the contact, wanting the connection. 

“It– it comes and goes. I– I was gonna take off but then I saw you and– it was like I was me again, just like that, but it– I’m afraid it won’t stay and I don’t want to lose it, I don’t want to lose you, Steve. I don’t _ know _ a lot right now but I know I need you, _ Stevie, _ p-please–”  
  
Bucky feels the panic rising in his chest, and he wants to run away from it by hiding in Steve’s arms, blocking it out with Steve’s touch. He turns into Steve’s hand, mouthing at the skin, squeezing his eyes shut against the images in his mind, machines and wires and pain.

“You are _ never _ gonna lose me, Buck. I got you, I’ve got you, I’m here,” Steve promises before kissing Bucky again. Bucky whimpers into it, and when Steve’s tongue teases at the seam of his lips he opens for it immediately, sucking it into his mouth until Steve is moaning. The act itself, and being this tangled up with Steve, it pushes the Asset away again, lets him fill up with Bucky, Bucky who can’t get enough of Steve. It gives his desperation focus, a place to put down roots, his fingers digging into Steve’s body as though if he can just hold on tightly enough it’ll all be okay.  
  
They break the kiss only when they run out of air, but Steve keeps their foreheads together as they pant for breath, his fingers sliding into Bucky’s hair.

“Bucky,” Steve is serious, his eyes bright even in the dark. “Do you trust me?”  
  
Bucky stares at him as he pushes into his hand, feels better with his cheek pressed to Steve’s palm. He’s not sure he knows up from down but he knows that Bucky – _ he _ – trusts this man with his life, would follow him – and _ did _ – to hell and back. That’s what brought him here, after all, even if he didn’t know it at the time. Steve is the key to everything, to who he is, to getting away from everything HYDRA did to him. So, Bucky nods. 

“Steve,” he whispers back. “I trust you.”  
  
Steve smiles then, big and bright, and Bucky is jittery for it, his stomach fluttering. It’s scary but also light and nice and Steve is without a doubt the most beautiful thing Bucky has ever seen. 

“Okay then,” Steve kisses him quick, barely able to close his mouth for the way he can’t stop smiling, and lets go of Bucky’s face. “Sit down for me?”  
  
Bucky glances beside them to the couch then back up at Steve in question, his hands flexing uncertainly where they’re still holding onto Steve’s chest.  
  
“It’s okay,” Steve says, encouraging, gently tugging at Bucky’s wrists with both hands. “I’m not going anywhere. Trust me, Buck. Have a seat.” 

Bucky starts to tremble as he forces himself to let go of Steve’s chest. He feels less secure as soon as the air hits his palms, his whole body shaking now as he takes an unsteady step towards the couch.

“Steve,” he stutters out as he stumbles, inelegant in a way the Soldier could never be. Steve reaches out with both hands to hold Bucky’s shoulders and help guide him down. 

“Easy, Buck,” Steve murmurs as Bucky sags against the cushions. Steve is standing in front of him looking like a dream-come-true, still illuminated by the moon outside whose light plays on all the curves and lines of his body.

Bucky feels more unhinged with each passing second, can’t help it that his trembling arms reach for Steve, who takes his each of his hands in his before leaning down to kiss Bucky’s knuckles. 

“If it’s too much, if I do anything you don’t like, Bucky, just say, or hit me– whatever, alright?” He looks down at Bucky from over the backs of his hands, and Bucky nods quickly, anything to get Steve closer. “Okay, so…”  
  
Steve folds Bucky’s hands together and places them in the centre of his own chest. Then, keeping his eyes on Bucky’s face all the while, clearly gauging his reaction as he continues, Steve leans forward to rest his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. When Bucky only takes in a shaky breath and opens his hands against Steve’s skin, Steve climbs into Bucky’s lap, tucking his knees up against the back of the couch. His thick thighs cradle Bucky’s waist and Bucky’s hands drift down, settling on Steve’s hips, firm and familiar. 

Steve doesn’t sit all the way down at first, keeping his ass up and his weight off of Bucky for the most part, and Bucky can feel Steve’s eyes on him as his own gaze falls to Steve’s chest, in front of his face. Bucky’s breathing gets a little shallow and his mouth inexplicably starts to water. He swallows hard, and his grip on Steve’s hips tightens.

“This okay?” Steve checks in as he sits fully, easing into Bucky’s lap until his ass is flush with the top of Bucky’s thighs, pressing down against the hard length of him straining against his jeans. The pressure is a welcome feeling and Bucky sighs for it, his hips hitching forward to rub into it as he nods. 

Steve hums in acknowledgement and slides his hands to rest on the slope of Bucky’s neck, shifting his hips back and forth just enough to make Bucky gasp. Bucky’s whole world feels narrowed to only this, only Steve, above and all around him, no room left for the Soldier. 

“You ‘member, sweetheart?” Steve murmurs. “Kiss me here, Buck.”  
  
Bucky doesn’t know where he means at first, but then those big hands are cupping the back of his head, thick fingers disappearing into his hair, pieces falling loose from the small knot Bucky had tied it in earlier, and Steve is bringing Bucky’s face forward, to his chest which he’s angling toward Bucky like an offering. 

Bucky’s heart hammers in his chest, his breath caught as he lets Steve guide him to press his lips to Steve’s sternum. 

The first kiss is gentle, tentative even. Bucky looks up at Steve after, who nods at him. From this angle, with this view, Bucky thinks he does, in fact, remember. The memories that flood his mind are gasoline on the smoking coals of want, roaring to life hotter and more insistent than Bucky has felt in over half a century. 

“Go on,” Steve breathes, fingers flexing on Bucky’s scalp, begging as though Steve is caught up in the very same flames. “Baby_, please _.”

So Bucky does, kisses Steve again, right in the centre of his chest, a little longer this time, and again, then kisses his way to Steve’s nipple without giving it a second thought. He rolls it between his teeth, bites down until Steve hisses above him, then lets it go only to soothe it with his tongue. Steve’s fingers work in gentle movements on his head, desperation seemingly soothed by Bucky’s attention. His forearms are braced on Bucky’s shoulders, and his hips still working in a sinuous back-and-forth, slow and suggestive, bringing to mind all manner of other memories that make Bucky groan and his dick leak into his shorts. 

“Yeah, honey, s-shit,” Bucky stutters, slides his hands up Steve’s sides, cups his chest and pushes it together, all that firm muscle making a valley for him to bury his face in. He drags his tongue along Steve’s skin, tastes the traces of his sweat, bites just the right side of hard before kissing the marks he leaves that he knows won’t stay. Not like they used to, back before the war. ‘Course he didn’t used to be able to bite Steve quite so hard, but Steve is built for it now, can take it and wants to. 

“_Fuck_,” Steve curses as Bucky manhandles his chest, the hum of his metal arm working to leave the shape of Bucky’s fingers in the firm flesh.

Steve’s hips haven’t let up in their back-and-forth grind in Bucky’s lap, and on each forward thrust the swollen, dripping tip of his cock hits Bucky’s stomach, soaking the cotton of his shirt. 

“God, look at you. You’re so wet, always get so wet for me, babydoll,” Bucky murmurs against Steve’s nipple, completely in the moment, like it’s been a day since the last time they did this and not the decades of reality.  
  
Steve sobs at Bucky’s words, pressing down like he wants to be bruised by Bucky’s ironhard length. “Buck, _ Bucky_, missed you, _ missed you so much, _please.”

“You gonna come like this, Stevie?” Bucky teases, knowing full well that they both will. His own orgasm simmers just out of reach, closer with each drag of Steve’s ass in his lap, and the noises Steve are making tell Bucky more even that the frantic nod of his head.

“Buck, baby, are you– ?” Steve barely manages to get out, his hands finding their way to Bucky’s shoulders for better leverage as he really digs into a rhythm with his hips. 

“Oh yeah, sugar,” Bucky answers, his own hands going back to Steve’s hips, encouraging, though his lips still tease Steve’s nipple as he speaks. “Don’t stop.”  
  
“Not gonna,” Steve huffs, focused as he chases relief. “Never.”  
  
Bucky hums, then takes Steve’s nipple into his mouth and starts to suck.

Steve whines at pull, all but trapping Bucky against his chest with his strong hands as he starts to come. His whole body shudders through even as he keeps up the movement of his hips. Bucky feels a warm, wet splash on his chin as he keeps sucking on Steve’s nipple relentlessly, that same wet warmth spreading on his belly where Steve makes a huge mess between them. Finally, Bucky gasps, mouth open and teeth dragging against Steve’s spit-soaked skin as he follows Steve over that same edge. 

Bucky cries out as it builds, something knocked loose in his chest as the tension breaks, waves of white-out pleasure washing over him. Tears well up in his eyes and he squeezes them shut, clinging to Steve like the lifeline he is, losing himself to this moment as it erases everything else. All there is is right now, the solid weight and heat of Steve’s body against his, and the inescapable truth that this is exactly where he belongs. 

Bucky shakes as it subsides, wrapping his arms tightly around Steve’s waist and burying his face in his chest while he catches his breath. Steve’s own arms are wrapped around Bucky’s shoulders, his head tipped down so Bucky can feel the heat of each exhale on his ear. Bucky’s body is heavy and relaxed in a way he didn’t realize was still possible, and as he eases into it he turns his head lazily to take Steve’s other nipple into his mouth, sucking at it without any intention. 

Steve sighs as well, moving slowly as he gives Bucky a little space, propping himself up against the back of the couch. Bucky can feel Steve watching him, looks up to see Steve looking down, eyes glassy and dark. 

“Bucky,” he whispers, awed, and then he combs Bucky’s hair back with one hand, the elastic broken or otherwise vanished, all of it loose and thick with Bucky’s sweat. It feels good, so good, and Bucky angles his head to chase Steve’s hand, humming at the pull of his hair and the tenderness with which Steve works his fingers through it. 

Steve cups Bucky’s jaw with his other hand and Bucky knows what he wants, releases Steve’s nipple so Steve can tip his face up to meet him in a kiss. It’s deep but unhurried, and then Steve is laughing into it softly, his thumb moving over Bucky’s chin where Steve’s come stubbornly clings to it.  
  
“I made a mess of you,” Steve mumbles against Bucky’s lips, bemused and sounding more than a little sex-drunk. 

“I made a mess of me, too, punk.” Bucky snorts, thrusting his hips up to nudge Steve’s ass as though he might be able to feel the mess in question through Bucky’s jeans. 

Steve half hums, half laughs as Bucky’s hips jostle him, and he looks more beautiful than in any dream or memory, his hair a disheveled mess, skin flushed and shiny, grinning at Bucky like that. Bucky shakes his head, grinning right back, his hands roaming Steve’s body because they can. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Steve exhales. For a brief moment, the acknowledgement makes panic and fear spike sharply in Bucky’s mind, his body going tense and rigid. Steve reacts in kind, startled and worried, kissing Bucky quick. Steve begs him with the press of his lips, and Bucky relaxes again after a long moment, kissing him back to both their relief. 

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters, eyes shut hard against the soft way Steve will no doubt be looking at him. 

“Buck, c’mon,” Steve nuzzles the side of his face and Bucky angles into it despite himself. “It’s okay. It’s all okay. You don’t have a damn thing to apologize for.”

He makes Bucky look at him then, waits him out, thumbs stroking Bucky’s cheeks, and Bucky finds he can’t resist it, the gentle touches and Steve’s patience, though he’s really not sure he’s worth all this. 

Looking into Steve’s big bright eyes even in the dark, Bucky swears he can see the way Steve loves him, the way he always did, looking at him like that.  
  
“What are we gonna do?” Bucky whispers, afraid of the answer, not wanting to leave Steve and the shelter of his body.  
  
Steve answers him without missing a beat, the same firm, incontrovertible edge to his voice that Bucky has heard countless times before. “Whatever we gotta do, Bucky. And whatever it is, we’ll do it together.”  
  
After all this time, Steven Grant Rodgers is as stubborn and sure as he was back in 1934 when they had a remarkably similar conversation, standing at the edge of friends and something more than. Bucky smiles even though it’s not a practical answer. Somehow, Steve’s conviction is enough, at least for this moment, and Bucky lets the desire to trust him keep him in this place where he’s more Bucky than Asset, more human than machine, memory overriding programming.

“Sure, pal,” Bucky lets himself believe, hugging Steve to him, feeling alive with the way Steve likewise wraps his arms around him to keep him close. 

They stay like that, Bucky’s face pressed to Steve’s chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat in Bucky’s ear, until Bucky starts to drift off, exhaustion setting in swiftly now that he’s uninhibited in a way he hasn’t been in a long, long time. 

\---

Steve can tell when Bucky starts to fall asleep under him, against him, his body going slack, his arms starting to slide down where they’re wrapped around Steve’s back. They’re both a mess, and Steve isn’t about to leave Bucky slumped on the couch. He reaches back to unwrap Bucky’s arms, stepping back and off Bucky’s lap. 

Bucky hums in protest but his eyes don’t open as Steve moves him, whispering. “Shh, easy, Buck. I’ve got you.”

Bucky groans and huffs as Steve picks him up, but relaxes as Steve stands, turning his face to breathe open-mouthed against Steve’s chest as he carries him bridal-style to his bedroom. Steve smiles, thinking of all times Bucky carried him this way, back when he was small, and indignant, and made a fuss about it just because, even though he loved it. If Bucky were awake there’s no question he’d be making the same fuss. 

But he’s not, and he doesn’t wake even as Steve undresses him, not about to leave him with boots on and underwear filled with dried come. Bucky is putty under his hands, heavy but movable in his sleep, and Steve aches to think how desperately he must need this, how long it’s been since he _ rested_.

Bucky is snoring when Steve comes back from the bathroom, all cleaned up himself and with a warm, damp cloth in hand to clean Bucky with, too. Tossing the cloth into the hamper, Steve slips under the covers and pulls them over them both, then gets into position as Bucky’s big spoon. They’re sharing Steve’s pillow, and as Steve gets his arms wrapped around Bucky’s waist, Bucky snuffles and shifts his hips back, pressing snugly into Steve’s lap. 

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs, his arms coming to rest on top of Steve’s, their fingers tangling together, flesh and metal both. The sound of his name from Bucky’s lips makes Steve warm inside, and he nuzzles in against the back of Bucky’s head, kissing him and breathing him in. 

“‘m here, Buck,” he answers into Bucky’s hair, giving him a gentle squeeze. 

“Mmm.”

Bucky’s fingers tighten around his briefly, then relax as Bucky slips back into his sleep. 

Steve takes a moment to revel in the way Bucky still smells the same, how easy it is, eyes closed and touching him from head to toe, to imagine it’s 1938 and they’re on a weekend leave pass in a hotel somewhere, before HYDRA got ahold of Bucky, before Steve ever had to think he was gone, to live without him. 

They’ve got a long road ahead of them – it might be the only thing Steve knows for sure. Well, that, and that he’s never letting Bucky go again, not ever. Frankly, it’s all Steve needs to know. Tomorrow, if Bucky is up for it, they’ll call Tony, have Bruce look him over. Work on a game plan. Whatever it takes. 

Tonight, Steve is going to sleep, a perfect ache in his chest and Bucky warm and real in his arms. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are love ❤
> 
> Don't forget to go [here](https://twitter.com/merakieros/status/1167183663517327369?s=20) and tell Andy how FANTASTIC that art is ❤❤❤


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